“Or the name you go by,” she said quickly, and he laughed.
“How sharp you are! Well, I don’t suppose O’Grady is your name, if it comes to that.”
She made no reply and he went on:
“I want somebody in Paris I can rely upon; somebody who will receive money, transmit it to the Benson Syndicate, and re-invest that money in such concerns as I shall indicate.”
“Don’t use long words,” she said. “How do you know I’m not going to rob you? Nobody’s ever trusted me with money before.”
He might have told her that she would not be trusted with a great deal at a time and that she would be carefully watched. He preferred, however, an explanation more flattering to his new assistant. And not only was it flattering, but it contained a big grain of truth, expressing, to an extent, Alfred Cartwright’s creed.
“Women are more honest than men,” he said. “I should think twice before I put a man—even my best friend—in the position I’m putting you. It will be a simple matter, and I shall pay you well. You can live at one of the best hotels—in fact, it is absolutely necessary that you should. You may”—he hesitated—“you may be Madam Benson, a rich Englishwoman.”
She looked at him from under perplexed brows.
“What is the good of asking me to do that?” she said in a tone of disappointment. “I thought you were going to give me a job I could do. I’m a fool at business.”
“You can remain a fool,” he said coolly. “There’s nothing to do except carry out a certain routine, which I shall explain to you so that you can’t possibly make a mistake. Here is a job which gives you plenty of time, pays you well, gives you good clothes and an auto. Now, are you going to be a sensible girl and take it?”